


Damn the Cliche

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: Written for @j-philly-b, who tried to break her office door with her hands and face on Friday.





	Damn the Cliche

Looking back on it, Emma’s first mistake was probably opening her mail on the elevator. 

Because she opened her mail on the elevator, she learned that the landlord of the supremely shitty building where she’d rented some cramped office space was raising her rent at the end of her lease in two months. (Rent that she barely made enough to pay as things stood now.) Because she was pissed at her landlord, when her key stuck in the lock for the millionth time, she might have let her anger get away from her a little bit. And because she let her anger get away from her a little bit, she might have hit the tempered glass door ( _Emma Swan, Private Investigator_ , it read in sans serif lettering) with her palms with a little more force than she intended.

Which was why she was now standing in pool of shattered glass, staring at the blood seeping from her hands as if they belonged to someone else.

“Fuck.”

While she stood there, wondering what she should do since she was pretty sure she didn’t have any band-aids in the office, a door behind her opened.

“Bloody hell, are you all right?”

 _Jones_ , she thought with an embarrassed grimace. Of course the handsome lawyer who unaccountably rented an office in this same seedy building would come out and see her like this. “I’m fine.” She kicked at some of the glass still clinging to the bottom of the door, intending just to step through the hole and into her office.

“You clearly aren’t.” She caught a whiff of his aftershave as he stepped up close behind her. “You’re bleeding rather badly.”

“Yeah.” She kicked at the glass again. “You wouldn’t happen to have any band-aids in your office, would you?”

He reached for the hand that was bleeding more profusely. “Miss Swan, I think you’re well beyond band-aid territory here. Come on, the hospital is a block away. I’ll walk you.”

“I know where the hospital is.” She pulled her bleeding hand away from him. “I don’t need any help.”

“Nonetheless, you’re going to get some.” Then he started shrugging off the unbuttoned flannel shirt that he was wearing.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He pressed the shirt to the top of her hand, wrapping the sleeve of it around her knuckles. “I’m trying to help stop the bleeding. Hold onto that,” he indicated, then stooped to pick up her dropped mail, shaking the shards of glass off of the envelopes. “How did you manage to do this?” he said as he reached through the hole in her door and put the mail on top of a filing cabinet.

“Guess I don’t know my own strength.” She kicked at the puddle of glass shards, pressing the flannel between her hands. Now that the initial shock had worn off, they were really starting to hurt. “I thought tempered glass wasn’t supposed to break like this.”

“It’s not.” He squinted at her face. “Come into my office a minute, let me get something for your face.”

Emma frowned, confused. “What about my face?”

“You’ve got a cut on your forehead, love. Come here.” He led her down the hall past a couple of deserted offices and through his own door, the one that read _Killian Jones, Attorney at Law_. 

She shuffled her feet next to his desk as he poured some water from a water bottle onto a handful of napkins. Then he stepped up close to her, dabbing at her forehead gently. Averting her eyes from his ridiculously blue ones, her gaze settled on the prosthesis he had in place of a his left hand and much of his forearm. She’d noticed it before as they passed each other in the hallway, but she’d never gotten such a close up view of it. 

“How did you get a cut on your face? Did you try to open the door with your head?”

“No.” She glowered, trying to ignore how good he smelled this close up. “I don’t know, because even physics is out to get me, I guess? What are you doing in your office on Sunday, anyway?”

“Same as you, I expect. Catching up on work.” He sighed. “Or perhaps I just have nowhere else better to be. This cut isn’t so bad,” he said. “It’s mostly stopped bleeding already. But let’s get you to the hospital to get your hand stitched up.”

“I don’t think I’ll need stitches.”

“You’ll definitely need stitches, love.”

~+~

She needed nine stitches.

Looking at the angry surgical thread embedded in her raw, reddened knuckles before the intern wrapped gauze around her entire hand, she figured at least if asked she could tell people she’d beat the shit out of someone.

When she emerged back into the waiting room, Killian was still sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, scrolling through something on his phone. 

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

He looked up and smiled. “I wasn’t sure how far away you lived, and I thought you might need help getting home.”

“I can walk there; it’s only a mile.” She held out his shirt, now stained with her blood. “I can try to wash this, or…”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He took the balled-up flannel from her. “Let me call you an Uber.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Please, Emma, allow me to be chivalrous. It will make me feel better if I know you’ve gotten home safely.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I can manage to get home without breaking any more glass with my body, I promise.”

He took a step back. “You’re right; I’m probably intruding.”

Emma took in his hangdog expression and sighed. “I was going to order a pizza. If you want, you can join me. As a thank you for looking after me this afternoon.”

He smiled, and she couldn’t help but think that he was even more handsome when he smiled.

~+~

“I took the liberty of calling the super about your door,” he said as he followed her through the hospital’s exit. “He said he’d have it boarded up by the end of the day.” He chuckled. “I’d lay even odds that he actually does it.”

“God, I hate that building. Why do you work there? Surely a lawyer can afford better offices than that shithole.”

“Aye, a lawyer with clients who have money can.”

“And your clients don’t have money?”

“Some of them do. The ones that don’t… I have a difficult time turning them away when they truly need my help.”

Emma eyed him sidelong as he walked next to her. “I know what that’s like.”

“So, you’re saying we’re both a couple of old softies, Swan?”

“Or we’re just failures and terrible with money.”

“Aye, or that.” He shot her a concerned look. “I hope your hand isn’t hurting too badly.”

“It isn’t,” she said, although it was throbbing. She gestured to him. “Besides, it would be pretty silly of me to complain about a few cuts on my hand to _you_.”

“Because of this?” he asked, holding up his prosthesis.

“Yeah,” she said, and then winced. “Sorry, should I not have… mentioned it? I don’t really know the etiquette.”

He chuckled. “It’s fine, love.”

“How did it happen?”

“My helicopter was shot down over Afghanistan,” he said matter-of-factly, the way you’d talk about the weather.

“So you’re a war hero?”

“Hardly.”

“Sounds like you’re a war hero.” 

“What led you to get a PI’s licence, Swan?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

She shrugged. “I spent part my teenage years with more than a passing knowledge of the criminal justice system, unfortunately. I met a PI back then who took me under his wing, taught me everything he knew. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re also excellent at breaking glass.”

“Ha ha.”

~+~

Emma held a beer bottle in her less injured hand and regarded Killian Jones across what was left of their extra sausage pizza.

“Do you want to watch TV or something?”

He looked at his watch. “I should probably let you rest, Swan. You look exhausted.”

She laughed. “Shows what you know; I’m _always_ exhausted.”

“All the more reason that you should try to turn in early.” He stood up from her sofa and stretched. Emma caught sight of the trail of hair under his navel, leading down beneath the button of his jeans. 

She stood as well, feeling awkward suddenly after what had been a nice evening. It turned out, Jones was as easy to talk to as he was on the eyes. 

“I’m very glad I got the chance to get to know you better, although I certainly regret the circumstances,” he said, rubbing behind one of his ears. “Perhaps once you’ve healed a bit, you’ll allow me to take you out to dinner?” His cheeks flushed adorably.

“Like on a date?”

His cheeks got pinker. Even the tips of his ears were pink, and it kind of made her want to take a bite out of him.

“Yes, like on a date,” he replied. “If… if you want.”

She grinned. “I don’t know, isn’t this too much of a rom com meet cute cliche? We work in the same building and never paid any attention to each other until I did something dramatic and clumsy and you came swooping in, a dashing knight galloping to my rescue?”

He met her grin with a matching one of his own. “Who says I never paid attention to you?”

 _Oh._ “I’d be happy to go on a date with you, Killian.”

“Excellent.” He swaggered a little closer to her, and the scent of his aftershave caught her attention once again. _Fuck, he smells good._

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you were to kiss me right now,” she said, a freefall sensation swooping in her stomach.

“The rom com cliche be damned?” he asked, his mouth close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered, just before their lips met in a hot slide. “Damn the cliche.”


End file.
